


Project Red

by xxdeejadoodlexx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blue Hoodie, Goodbye purple hoodie, Hoodies!, I abuse tags, M/M, No one likes the blue hoodie, Purple Hoodie!, Red Hoodies, We love red hoodies, dead hoodies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 23:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxdeejadoodlexx/pseuds/xxdeejadoodlexx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek likes to pretend that he doesn’t like Stiles’ red hoodie, but Stiles knows differently. Actually, Stiles has secretly been orchestrating an experiment. A long-scale, super covert experiment that bossy Alpha werewolves couldn’t possibly know anything about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Phase One

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know, you guys. This just happened. This was originally posted on my Tumblr.

Phase one was all about making the hoodie an obvious option. Or well, it was just about laying it over his desk chair and  _accidentally_  forgetting about it. Derek had come to pick him up for their bi-weekly pack pow-wow since his lovely jeep was still in the shop (Stiles was still touchy about that — We don’t talk about it). Right before Stiles gets into Derek’s ridiculously sexy car he stops and rubs his arms tenderly.

“Oh damn, I forgot my hoodie and it’s sorta cold” Stiles says, pouting a bit. He’s looking at Derek like he should just know what he means; what he wants. Derek is staring at him like he’s dumb and he really doesn’t want to deal with Stiles’ bullshit. Obviously, Stiles is gonna have to make things more evident ‘cause Derek is really dull and needs to get his brain checked.

“Um, think you could jump through my window and grab it for me?” Stiles says, rubbing his arms with purpose because it is a little nippy and it makes it look all the more dire. As in, this is life or death. Hypothermia or warm and cozy cotton. And that makes a lot more sense and is far more dramatic if you don’t really think about it. 

Derek just stares for a moment before sighing; tightening his fist into a ball and stomping off to do werewolf acrobatics into Stiles’ room.

Stiles smiles when Derek leaps out of his window with a familiar red hoodie in hand.


	2. Phase Two

Phase two was about making the hoodie a less viable option. This time around, Derek had come to visit Stiles in his room; demanding answers that were clearly more difficult to obtain ‘cause Google only knows so much and Stiles hasn’t been to the library yet and why the hell doesn’t Derek do his own damn research? Stiles doesn’t even know if Derek has internet in that old burnt out husk he likes to call a home. He makes it a point to investigate it one day, for science and the good of mankind and whatnot. Maybe if Derek had internet he wouldn’t go out looking for danger every moment of the day. 

“Look man, I’m doing my best here. It’s not like there is a website that just gives me all the information I need. I have to search for hours and hours, giving up my gaming time. My guild misses me! I could be raiding right now! I’m like, way under-geared, bro, you don’t even know” Stiles says, but he’s really just deflecting so he can push Derek’s buttons. Stiles found out what the newest supernatural annoyance to hit Beacon Hills was an hour after researching. He just really likes watching Derek get all bent out of shape and flustered.

And now Derek is giving him the judgement stare. The one where his eyes are a little squinted and his jaw is clenched too tight. Stiles decides to call him out on it.

“Don’t judge me, Judge. You’re seriously the last person that gets to do that” he iterates ‘cause Derek is a dick and Stiles is trying to remember why he has an out-of-control crush on him.

Derek sighs and his glare softens.

“Do you know anything about what’s going on, or not?” Derek asks, because he’s all impatience and never gives Stiles enough credit. 

“Dude, I told you, I barely have anything to go off of and I haven’t even made it past the ninth page of search results. That’s dangerous territory, Derek. Anything after the third page is a no-go zone. You wouldn’t understand because you’re a neanderthal and can’t grasp the concept of technology and all its glory”

“I have a smartphone.” Derek retorts, clearly unamused.

“Yeah, that’s awesome, dude. You and every other cognizant being on this planet. But you get a gold star for effort” Stiles quips. 

Derek is…Derek is very unamused and now he’s looking murderous. Stiles needs to derail this like, yesterday.

“It’s a Spectre and I’m guessing its showing up now because someone or something has disturbed its resting place” Stiles is looking a little smug and Derek is looking slightly perplexed, if not a little impressed. He nods and asks Stiles where it is and how they can kill it.

“Dude, you’re all about the violence. We don’t need to kill it, all we need to do is put it to rest. There is a few mentions of a prayer and some weeds that’ll negate the Spectre’s life energy effectively erasing it from existence. No need to claw or maim or bite things bloody”

Derek smiles and it’s all tooth. Stiles is slightly horrified and strangely aroused. He gave up on trying to understand his body months ago. He blames Derek’s disgustingly perfect everything.

“What if I like clawing and biting things until they bleed?” Derek asks in what Stiles guesses is supposed to be a sarcastic tone, but really, it just sounds apathetic and nonchalant, making it all the more difficult to feel comfortable.

“Right, well, that’s an interesting hobby. You do that. I on the other hand, am gonna print out this prayer thing and go check the woods in the back of the house for these herbs. You’re more than welcome to come along and frolic through, killing innocent woodland creatures, or whatever it is you enjoy doing.”

Derek grunts and Stiles grabs the paper he just printed. When they’re outside, its actually pretty cold and Stiles really, really wants his hoodie. However, he’s been planning this for a while. He made sure to lay out his navy blue hoodie over the chair and hang his red one up in the back of his closet. The blue one is obviously the most practical choice. It’s almost impossible not to see it.

Stiles grabs at his arms and let his teeth chatter a bit.

“Fuck man, it’s cold. I forgot my hoodie again. I’m so dumb sometimes” he looks over at Derek who is staring at Stiles with that familiar scowl in place. Stiles wonders if Derek can read his mind because he feels like Derek is judging him again, or something, but Stiles presses on. He involuntarily shivers for a moment which makes it look all the more authentic. He rubs his hands together for good measure.

“Would you mind…” he trails off because Derek is already walking back into the house and Stiles is smiling a little because Derek is totally an obedient puppy.

When Derek comes back with his red hoodie, Stiles’ heart beats a little faster. Derek throws it at Stiles who flails a bit before catching it and putting it on. He moans a little as he snuggles the material to his body. It smells a little like Derek which is like, a total bonus. Stiles loves the way Derek smells; it’s all manly and stuff and  _wow_ , Stiles is super gay right now. He shrugs to himself and looks over at Derek is staring at him a little wide-eyed and surprised. The bounce of his adam’s apple is a prominent movement that catches Stiles’ attention.

“Hey…uh…you okay? You don’t look—”

“I’m fine, Stiles” Derek responds, closing his eyes and exhaling heavily. “Hurry up, I don’t have all night.”

Stiles really wants to make a joke because Derek totally just ran into like, twenty of them at full speed with no seatbelt on, but Stiles is feeling slightly merciful and his experiment is yielding delightful results. So he just smiles and starts walking towards the forested area behind his house, Derek trailing closely behind.


	3. Phase Three

Phase three was all about making the red hoodie unavailable. Stiles had thought about this portion of his experiment the most. After the culmination of his data thus far, he was fairly certain that Derek, did in fact, have a sick fascination with seeing Stiles in his red hoodie. 

How  _ironic_.

However, Stiles made it a point to hide said red hoodie. It lays under his bed, behind old shoes and lacrosse gear. Meanwhile, Stiles had taken out all the various other hoodies he owns and thrown them haphazardly around his room. Blue, green, purple, black and white. Why does Stiles own so many hoodies? He’s not quite sure, it just seems to have worked out that way.

Thankfully, Derek is at his house again, something that seems to be happening a lot more lately. Stiles isn’t sure how he feels about having the object of his affection and sexual desires in such close proximity. Stiles also wonders why Derek doesn’t hang out with his pack. And now he’s wondering what the pack does when Derek isn’t around. Do they whine and howl at the door like sad little puppies? That would be really horrible and gross if it wasn’t so fucking cute.

Stiles is now considering therapy. Thinking about werewolves doing cute puppies things is inaccurate and probably unhealthy.

“Stiles! Are you even listening to me?” Derek’s voice is sorta angry, but that isn’t really a surprise. Besides, Stiles is apparently into the whole ‘angry-broody-alpha’ thing. Who’d have thought?

“Huh? What? I mean, yeah dude, totes. Random wild Werewolf. Dangerous. Stay away. You’re a squishy human” Stiles responds. He’s chewing on the back of his pen; his attention on the papers in front of him. He’s been tracking the various animal attacks and sightings for the past couple days. Literally the day after they took out the Spectre, a Rogue Werewolf wandered into Beacon Hills. Probably because the universe hates Stiles and never lets him catch a break. 

It’s been two days since the first attack. An elderly couple on a relatively private trail were completely eviscerated. Poor old peeps.

Stiles looks up from his papers and over to Derek who is doing the eyebrow thing which probably means to demean Stiles, but Stiles is totally resistant. He narrows his eyes.

“Now, if you’re done trying to convince me that I’m a liability, we should head out ‘cause I’m pretty sure I know where this dude is hiding.”

Derek looks at Stiles’ papers with renewed interest. Maps and notes and printed information from some odd websites. Derek is looking impressed and that is making Stiles feel super awesome.

When Derek looks back to Stiles, he’s wearing his blank expression. Stiles thinks he should be on his knees praising the ground Stiles walks on because Stiles is super good at this and obviously the pack would be nothing without him. 

Or he could just stand there and stare daggers into Stiles. Whatever.

“How about you tell me where it is and you stay here. I don’t need you getting in my way” is what Derek finally says.

Stiles scoffs, clearly in mock offense. If Derek thinks he’s just gonna leave him and Stiles is gonna be okay with that, Derek is more dumb than he thought.

“Yeah right, Cujo. You’re funny if you think I’m just gonna sit here and twiddle my thumbs like a dumbass. I’m going with you” he retorts, getting up to grab his keys and walking towards the door. He faintly hears a growl, most likely because he’s being insubordinate and not following Alpha rules or something. He could care less. Stiles, despite what the other werewolves thought, isn't a weak imbecile. He can hold his own, even if half the time he’s improvising.

Derek eventually starts to trudge after him. It’s dark out and Stiles is thankful that his dad has been busy with all the influx of attacks or else sneaking around would probably be more difficult. He gets to his jeep before Derek grabs him by the arm.

“Hey, what the—”

“We’re taking my car. I don’t like driving in that sorry excuse for a vehicle” Derek supplies. He’s eyeing Stiles’ jeep like its personally offended him. Stiles yanks his arm out of Derek’s hold, something that shouldn’t have been possible with the werewolf strength and all. 

“Uh, that’s my baby, man. Don’t diss her, if anything, your car is a crash waiting to happen. My jeep is everything perfect and beautiful in this world and you’re just jealous” Stiles says as he walks to Derek’s camaro. Because secretly Stiles is in love with Derek’s car. It’s sexy and badass and maybe Stiles has thought about Derek bending him over the hood and having his way with him. Actually, that was a recurring fantasy he visited during ‘private time’.

Derek is watching him with an inquisitive eye, eventually making his way to the driver’s side. Stiles stops for a moment and clutches his arms, stroking them slowly.

“Wow, it keeps getting colder and colder. Maybe I should grab my hoodie? We’re gonna be outside most of the night, probably…” he trails off. Derek stills his hand where it began to reach for the car door and automatically starts to make his way to Stiles’ house. Stiles can’t help the smirk as he watches Derek scale the side of his house and jump through his window. Then his face contorts and his heart begins to pound in his chest. What if Derek came out with the red hoodie? All of Stiles’ hypothetical analysis would be spot on. That means he really actually  _likes_ seeing Stiles in it. What does that mean? That Derek has a preference for what Stiles wears? That he wants to see Stiles wearing it?

His thought process is shattered when Derek jumps down with the red hoodie.  _The_ red hoodie. The one Stiles hid. Under his bed. After washing it to clear the scent. This…this all but confirms it. Derek has the most ironic sense of humor, or he  _wants_  to see Stiles wearing it.

Derek holds the hoodie out for Stiles who slowly reaches for it, his heart still thrashing against his ribs. Derek looks at him oddly, in a way that Stiles is unsure of how to catalogue. Worried? Concerned? He can probably hear Stiles’ heart and is wondering why it’s so ridiculously fast. He swallows hard and nods. “Thanks” is all he can say.

Stiles puts on his hoodie and gets into the car.


	4. Phase Four

Phase four was supposed to finally gauge Derek’s reaction to seeing Stiles in a hoodie other than the red one the Alpha so obviously favors. So, Stiles makes it a point to wear a different color. The purple one. Two weeks pass and he makes sure he’s wearing it at all times.  
  
Day five of wearing the purple hoodie and Derek comes trouncing though Stiles’ window. Stiles probably shouldn’t be so used to Derek coming through his window like its his own personal doggy-door. That should be unsettling, but he pushes it to the back of his mind. Mostly because the look of horror on Derek’s face when his eyes finally landed on Stiles. For a moment, he froze, obviously looking at Stiles’ chest. At the hoodie. Stiles’ heart instantly began to hammer and his body tenses. Then Derek’s face slowly melts into a familiar scowl. Stiles forces a smile.  
  
“Hey” he starts, watching Derek’s movements and expressions with acute interest. “What’s up Alpha-man?” he stands from where he was sitting at his desk. He throws one of his hands in the pocket in front of the hoodie and the other brings the white string that was hanging loosely across his chest to his mouth where he chews at it intensely.  
  
Derek merely watches him.  
  
“Nothing. Nevermind.” He turns and leaves without any explanation and Stiles is left standing there wondering what the fuck just happened.  
  
After the next couple days, Stiles runs into Derek at the store which shouldn’t have been all that fascinating, but Stiles couldn’t help but watch from afar as Derek stood in a random aisle, looking at boxes of food. It was so awkwardly normal. Too normal. When Stiles thought of Derek, his mind instantly supplied sharp teeth, even sharper claws and piercing red eyes. Of growling and commands and the burnt house he currently resides in. Not about Derek in grocery stores shopping for breakfast cereal.   
  
Stiles felt a small smile creep into his lips. That’s when Derek turned his head to stare dead into Stiles’ eyes. His smile was lost and he was sure he looked like a deer caught in headlights. Was he officially creeping? On Derek? Derek was the creeper, not Stiles! When did his life go so wrong?  
  
He forces a smile and gives a small, awkward wave.  
  
Derek visibly scans Stiles’ body, his eyes lingering on the purple hoodie that Stiles rarely takes off for the sake of his ummm…experiment, and looks away, tossing both boxes into the shopping basket and rounding to the next aisle.  
  
Stiles feels like maybe Derek really hates the color purple.  
  
The final straw seemed to have been during a meeting at Derek’s place. Pack Meetings were just an excuse to get everyone in the same room for Derek to boss around, at least that’s what Stiles thinks. However, Derek had some meaningful information this time around. Apparently he was in talks with the surrounding packs in attempts to reestablish ties and forging alliances. Stiles was moderately impressed. Derek was actually doing something leader-ey.   
  
However, the thought of Derek taking charge, completely in command of anything and everything made Stiles shift uncomfortably in his seat; his body betraying him in embarrassingly inappropriate ways. Thankfully he was in some crappy, half-burnt chair that was in the back of the living room. Far enough from werewolf noses, and charred enough to probably mask the stench of his arousal. That didn’t seem to keep Derek from staring at him so unabashed though; stealing glances so blatantly. Always eyeing the hoodie. The purple hoodie that Stiles is still wearing.  
  
After the meeting was over, Derek called for him as the pack was shuffling out. Scott shot him a worried look before Stiles smiled reassuringly to his friend.  
  
“It’s all good, man. It’s obvious that Derek doesn’t know what he’s doing with all these allegiances and stuff. He’s gonna need my awesomeness to not fuck this up” he shrugs. Scott hadn’t looked convinced but he nodded, eyeing Derek again, before staring back at his best friend.  
  
“Yeah, right. Just text me later and let me know you got home okay.”  
  
Stiles nodded, looking at Derek who was staring dead at him with an even more murderous expression on his face.  
  
Once Scott left, Derek began to stride over to him, completely disregarding all practical rules of personal space. Instinctively, Stiles took several steps away until he back was flush against a wall. Derek reached out and bunched the purple fabric in his hands, squeezing it tightly; eyeing it as if he was going to scare it away. Stiles was sorta hyperventilating and oddly turned on. He should be worried about his new kink of being manhandled but if anything, he’s embraced it.  
  
Stiles got his breathing under control and swallowed down his fear. At first he thought that maybe he was out of place with his whole ‘Derek is too dumb for alliances’ thing, but Stiles quickly deduced, this had nothing to do with the meeting and everything to do with the fact that Stiles has purposely been avoiding a certain color.  
  
Aside from making sure to wear the purple hoodie, Stiles doesn’t wear anything red. Nothing at all. He was making no exceptions and although Derek hasn’t visited his room in the two weeks he’s done this hoodie thing, Stiles was elated with a certain satisfaction. There was something intoxicating to know that he was getting under Derek’s skin so easily. That he’d have this effect on the Alpha.  
  
“Uhhhhhmmm, so —” Stiles drags out. What the fuck are you supposed to say during a time like this? They both know what they want. Stiles wants Derek to admit he craves for Stiles to be galavanting around wearing that stupid red hoodie; like its a personal fucking claim. Derek wants to say that he wants that too, but the hoodie wouldn’t be the only thing marking Stiles’ body. The problem is, both of them are far too stubborn for their own good. Neither wanting to relent. To submit and lose the wordless game of wills and desires. What was supposed to be an innocent experiment, quickly morphed into something so much more. A tense battle of wits and power dynamics.  
  
Derek hadn’t replied. He let out a huff of hot air as he brought his face closer to Stiles’. His eyes trailed up from the purple fabric to Stiles’ face. It surveyed for a moment and Stiles felt himself shiver under Derek’s scrutinizing gaze. He licked his lips, just as he always did during any sudden invasion of nervousness. The motioned was tracked quickly by Derek who’s breathing stayed; Stiles stilled his breath as well.   
  
Eventually, his eyes bore into Stiles’, pulsing an aggravated red before they bled back into familiar hazel prisms.  
  
Derek pushed off of Stiles with a little more force than was necessary. Stiles slumped slightly, his posture loose and awkward as he used the wall to keep himself upright. He let himself breath quick heavy pants that he attempted to muffle. His heart was thrashing in his chest. He was fighting every impulse he had to jump at Derek and…he didn’t even know. To touch and kiss and touch more. He felt himself being pulled to Derek against every rational thought. The tension was too much; too heavy in the air. It felt like he was drowning in it.  
  
“Take that off.”  
  
Derek’s voice blasted Stiles out of his thoughts. He straightened his posture.  
  
Of course, the fucking hoodie.  
  
He didn’t know how to respond to that. Derek and his words, or rather, lack thereof.  
  
“No. I’m cold” Stiles lies. “What the fuck Derek? Why are you acting even more grumpy and weird? This is extreme, even for you. You’ve been avoiding me these past couple weeks, man. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, so what the hell?”  
  
Derek’s jaw clenched and his lips let slip a slight amount of fang. He brought a hand back up to Stiles’ chest, only this time, his claws were fully extended. When he bunched the fabric, he moved his digits to pierce the hoodie and in one, swift motion, he swiped down the rest of the garment. The sound of cloth ripping was loud against Stiles ears. He gaped up at Derek, looking down at the ruined hoodie and then back to focus his attention on the Alpha. Derek was looking infuriatingly smug.  
  
“What. The Fuck. Derek!?” Stiles yelled.  
  
Derek tossed the pieces of fabric that he shredded. He shrugged, so nonchalant.  
  
“I like the red one better” is all he says.  
  
Stiles, still completely mindfucked, stares up at Derek who is looking at Stiles in a way he hasn’t seen before. This look hasn’t been catalogued and Stiles doesn’t know how to react. All he knows is that, Derek’s eyes keep flicking between Stiles’ gaze and his lips. Stiles is still breathing heavy and suddenly he feels his mouth salivating. His brain is getting foggy and it feels like his limbs are aching to grab at Derek. He’s trying his hardest to stay still, but the pull is almost unbearable. His mind is playing scenarios of them kissing. The repercussions. The consequences of just reaching out and touching. Of how Derek might want what Stiles is wanting and lets him; lets Stiles grab his face and kiss him.  
  
Stiles’ thoughts are obliterated when Derek’s hand reaches out again and tugs the rest of the hoodie from Stiles’ body. Stiles only realizes after it’s too late that his body inches closer to Derek’s, arching against his will into Derek’s touch as he takes in a fast, sharp breath.  
  
Derek freezes with the hoodie halfway off Stiles’ body and looks at him inquisitively.  
  
Stiles wants to say something. He wants to rub it in Derek’s face that he knew all along that Derek liked Stiles in red; that Derek is a paradoxical loving liarface and how he secretly wants Stiles to be the Little Red to his Big Bad Wolf. But nothing comes out, because Derek is staring at Stiles’ lips again and his head is inching closer. Stiles feels that unbearable tug in his bones, like something pulling him from his gut in Derek’s direction. He slowly zeroes in on Derek’s lips, his mind begins to crumble with anticipation. His eyelids feel heavy and instinctively he lets them fall shut a little, parting his mouth along with the movement.  
  
Then Derek’s mouth is on his and they’re kissing hard and fast and then slow and gentle. Hands feel on foreign bodies; seeking out skin and warmth and more. Stiles moans low in his throat which only serves to entice Derek more. The Alpha pushes the rest of the way into Stiles’ space, hooking his hands behind Stiles’ thighs and lifts him. He easily holds Stiles’ weight and shoves him farther into the wall, still claiming and ravishing his mouth.  
  
Stiles moans, this time high and needy, wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist. Derek moves his mouth to Stiles’ throat and nips and sucks, agitating the skin, effectively leaving his mark.  
  
Stiles starts mewling out in unabashed pleasure. Having never been kissed in his life or touched so intimately before, his whole body is buzzing with desire; overwhelmed and trembling under Derek’s powerful and dominating touches.  
  
“Fucking fuck — Derek, oh my god. I knew you liked that stupid red hoodie” Stiles barely gets out as Derek bites and sucks on his collarbone. Derek growls in response but continues to ravish Stiles’ skin. Stiles had moved his hands to grab onto Derek’s hair, pulling and tugging him to Stiles’ face. They meet in another heated and sloppy kiss. It’s so rushed and hungry, like they’ve both been starving themselves from what they’ve been craving for so long.  
  
Derek rolls his hips into Stiles’ and his raging erection. But that’s okay, because Stiles can totally feel Derek’s (Oh fuck, that’s big) cock, just as hard and eager as his. Stiles moves his hips, seeking more friction and Derek is all but too happy to oblige.  
  
They’re a mess of grinding hips, sloppy, tongued kisses and salacious noises. Derek is practically fucking Stiles into the wall, rutting up against him and groaning out his own pleasure as Stiles is a steady, vocal stream of heavy breaths and whining moans.  
  
Derek slides one of his hands further up Stiles’ thigh to graze over the boy’s bottom. He grabs at the plump flesh, squeezing it tightly and smirked when he felt Stiles grind more heavily into his touch.  
  
He pulled away from where he was nipping on Stiles’ second clavicle to ghost his lips over the younger males. Stiles tries to chase his lips; his tongue coming out in an attempt to taste Derek’s mouth again. Derek recedes a little sporting a smug smirk. Stiles attempts to whine in a manly fashion.  
  
He fails horribly.  
  
Derek takes in the sight before him. Admiring Stiles’ swollen lips. The fierce, red tinge to his cheeks, neck and chest. His normally open and welcoming eyes blown impossibly wide with a newfound lust. A lust for Derek. Then there was Stiles’ smell. Holy fuck, his fucking smell.  
  
His scent was always so strong and energetic. Tangy and wild, just like the teen, but now the stench of primal hunger and sex permeated through the air. It was like a sort of drug. Every inhale was driving Derek insane; crumbling whatever self control he normally so easily exuded. It was taking every last ounce of his will to keep from ripping off the rest of Stiles’ clothes and fucking the boy like an animal.   
  
He was in conflict with his instincts. The same instincts that he lived off of and trusted more than anything in this world. They kept telling him to take what he wanted. Give in, to fuck Stiles into the wall. To claim and breed into the boy.  
  
“Derek, please— ” Stiles whined again.  
  
Fucking fuck.  
  
Derek crashed against Stiles again, grinding hard and fast. Kissing into Stiles, trying to take in as much of his taste as he could. Stiles was more than enthusiastic with his mouth, hips and sounds.  
  
Derek pulled back again, resting his forehead against Stiles’ while thrusting their hips together.  
  
“I knew what you were doing” he says. His voice is deeper. More gruff and animalistic. The wolf is becoming more difficult to rein in and control.  
  
“It took me a few days, but I caught on. Every time I saw you with that fucking purple thing on, I wanted to rip it off you.” He says it like the color is dirty, grotesque thing. Like its existence is an abomination.  
  
“I thought of this. Of me fucking you while you wore that stupid red hoodie” he says and it drives Stiles insane. He groans and throws his head back. Derek takes the opportunity to lick a stripe up and over Stiles’ throat.  
  
“What the fuck, Derek. Why didn’t you just fucking do it?” Stiles asks, exasperated. He’s looking back at Derek now, licking his lips, already missing the sensation of Derek’s tongue sliding across them; swarming into his mouth and caressing his own. Derek huffs a laugh and shrugs.  
  
“You’re easy prey. At least you were until you pulled this little stunt with that thing” he motions to the remnants of the purple hoodie. “Every day I saw you wearing it— Fuck. I knew you were messing with me, taunting me like the snarky little shit you are.”  
  
Stiles huffs in aggravation. “I think I liked it better when we were making out”  
  
Derek’s eyes bleed into red. “Wear the red one, Stiles” he says in an authoritative tone. Stiles smiles, completely unfazed by what would normally have him cowering.  
  
“Why don’t you make me?” he says with a teasing tone. Derek growls and grinds into him again, hard. Stiles gasps and Derek resumes his claim of Stiles’ mouth.  
  
Soon their movements are erratic and uncoordinated and Stiles is feeling heat coiling low in his stomach. He feels like his skin is tingling and his mind is becoming more and more numb. He’s shaking and he feels his cock straining against his jeans. His breathing is short and fast as he wraps his arms around Derek’s neck and gives him everything he’s got into one last kiss. He pulls away and throws his head back.  
  
“Derek, I’m— I’m gonna. I’m— “ his voices rises higher and higher until he feels his body tense and then he’s shaking as he release himself into his jeans.   
  
“Fuck—”  
  
Derek is kissing him hard and Stiles is sloppy and slow now that it feels like all the energy in his body was stolen from him. Derek pulls away from his mouth and bites down on Stiles’ shoulder, thankfully with human teeth, and then he’s growling and shaking in a spastic manner. Rutting slowly and until he comes to a stop.  
  
Their breaths are long and heavy. Derek moves his face to rest in Stiles’ neck, his body slumping into the boy. He seems content to still hold Stiles against the wall and Stiles is more than happy to be there, wrapped up in his arms.  
  
“I look pretty good in red, I guess” Stiles finally says. One arm wrapped gently around Derek’s neck as the other one strokes gently through the Alpha’s hair. Derek huffs what Stiles is sure is a laugh which makes him smile lazily in return.  
  
“You still owe me another purple hoodie though and we really need to work on your communication skills” he says, trying to sound serious. Derek growled playfully and nipped at Stiles’ neck. Stiles laughs.

* * *

  
  
When Stiles gets home he’s still smiling to himself. His experiment had been a total success.  
  
He showers quickly and finds himself stopping in the middle of his room. A plan hits him like a brilliant message from the Goddess almighty. He grins to himself and it’s perfectly mischievous.

Throwing on some clothes and grabbing his keys, he intends to drive to a specific sort of store on the far edge of town. If his new plan works like it does in his head though, it'll totally be worth it.

 

* * *

 

Stiles isn’t surprised when Derek is hopping through his window later that night. He’d expected to see Derek again soon, but he thought that Derek would at least wait until tomorrow. Stiles was happy he didn’t.  
  
Stiles beams as Derek freezes once he’s situated inside the room. His face contorts into something angry; eyeing the offending garment that Stiles had purposely worn to get a rise out of the Alpha.  
  
Stiles was wearing a pair of green and blue pajama bottoms and an almost matching navy blue hoodie. The hoodie is zipped to the top, barely revealing any skin. Derek full on fucking fumes.  
  
“Stiles” he grits. “I told you—”  
  
“Calm down. Jeez. I’m wearing red” Stiles says as his smirk grows devilish. Derek raises a brow. Stiles slowly stalks forward, one hand playing with the zipper of his hoodie.  
  
“You’re just gonna have to find out what it is…” he finishes. Derek is looking like a predator, but doesn’t attempt to move. Stiles advances a little closer, leaving only about a foot to seperate them. Stiles finally, slowly starts to unzip the hoodie and Derek’s eyes blow open wide as his mouth drops.  
  
Stiles is wearing a red collar, fitted tight around his neck. Derek looks about a second away from drooling. Stiles thinks Derek is a possessive bastard, but that doesn’t mean Stiles’ is thinking it’s a bad thing.  
  
Mid zip, Derek reaches out and stills Stiles’ hand. He closes the gap between them.  
  
“Let me” he says.  
  
Stiles drops his hand and Derek slowly unzips the rest of the hoodie and slips it off of Stiles. He brings up his hand and traces the collar, looking completely entranced. Stiles was feeling smug.  
  
“The collar isn’t the only thing I’m wearing that’s red, you know” Stiles adds and it seems to break whatever self control Derek was trying to contain.  
  
Stiles laughs when Derek picks him up and practically runs to the bed, almost ripping off their clothes, but he stops when he reaches the matching red undies Stiles is sporting. They’re tight and skimpy, hugging to Stiles’ skin in all the right ways. Derek growls low in his throat and his eyes flare red. Stiles is smiling again.  
  
“You like what you see, Mr. Alpha?” he teases, even going so far as to bring a finger to his mouth in an attempt to look innocent. Derek huffs out loudly.  
  
“Fuck yes.”  
  
Yeah. Stiles is a fucking genius and his experiment was definitely a total success.  
  
Best. Idea. Ever.


	5. Phase Five

Phase five…well, phase five wasn’t even really a phase. Mostly because Stiles doesn’t need phases anymore since he’s totally bagged the guy. Wolf? Guy-Wolf? Whatever.  
  
Stiles wakes up the following morning feeling a bit sore and far more exhausted than he’s felt in a long time. His muscles ache and his backside feels a little funny. All in the best ways, of course.  
  
What he doesn’t quite appreciate is upon opening his eyes, he quickly realizes that he’s alone in his bed. He’s not sure what to make of this. Where the fuck is Derek? Did he hit it and quit it? Did his Dad scare him off? Maybe the beta’s called and needed something?  
  
Or maybe Stiles…was an awful lay.  
  
Holy fuck. What if Derek regrets it? Maybe he thought that Stiles was the worst thing to happen since…since…crocs?  
  
Oh fuck. Now Stiles is freaking out; breathing fast and short looking around for any remnants of the Alpha. He gets out of his bed and heads to his desk where his phone is laying. Stiles immediately notices the note underneath the device. Derek’s horrible, scratchy, all-capital writing shining like a beacon of light and hope and love and everything else in the world that is wonderful and perfect and amazing. Stiles instantly deflates.  
  
He forgets about the phone and reads the note:

**MEET ME AT THE HOUSE**

  
Short and sweet and so…so bland and bossy and Derek. Stiles is smiling though, so that means he’s totally feeling lots of bubbly emotions that he doesn’t want to over analyze at the moment. He’s quick to get ready, brushing his teeth, slapping on some deodorant and grabbing his red hoody by default. He’s out of the house and well on his way to Derek’s in no time.  
  
Stiles doesn’t  _speed_ , he just stretches the laws to the point it feels thin. Like it’ll maybe snap and come hurtling in his direction to slap him in the face. Thankfully, he makes it to Derek’s in due time without a car crash or being pulled over. The sight he’s met with has him gaping.  
  
He’s out of his jeep and slamming the door with far more force than necessary.  
  
“What the actual fucking-fuck, Derek!” he yells. He’s grabbing at his head, clearly in a fit and not quite understanding why he’s looking at the shredded remnants of  _ALL_  his hoodies. They’re scattered all across the property, littering the ground, the porch and branches. Stiles is about to start bitching when he’s abruptly slammed into the side of his jeep. Derek is nosing at his neck.  
  
“No. No, you don’t get to be all touchy with me. This shit is expensive Derek. Hoodies aren’t free!” but he’s ignored. Derek is already nipping at his jaw and licking at his neck.  
  
“You smell like me. Like mine” Derek says and the rough reverberations of his voice make Stiles shudder.  
  
“Possessive much?” he tries to tease, but his head is already falling back to give Derek more room to ravish his skin. A heady moan escapes his lips before he can stop it. His resolve is crumbling. Derek, that manipulative bastard, is using his irresistible body against Stiles’ already fragile teenage hormones. What an evil genius.  
  
Derek growls playfully in response, biting down onto the same spot that he’s all but tore through yesterday and then again last night. Stiles knows its a wolf thing. Something about forcing submission and whatnot, and it works. Oh holy  _fuck_ , it works. But Stiles has always been insubordinate, so he tries to wriggle free. He wants to at least give the illusion that he’s trying to keep his masculinity intact. Derek is quick to stomp his feeble attempts, clamping down harder and rolling his hips into Stiles’ throbbing erection. Stiles whimpers, bites his lips, and decides that he’s going to give up. Mostly because this is benefiting him and he’s not about to jeopardize that.  
  
“I’m— Fuck. I’m still mad at you. You- You can’t just destroy my shit and think its okay” but it doesn’t sound very convincing even to himself. Fuck it all, Derek can do whatever he likes as long as he keeps doing exactly what he’s doing right now.  
  
Except…that’s when Derek stops and Stiles tries really hard not to whine. Derek pulls back to look at Stiles, his knee between the younger’s thighs, pushing up a little; a tease. Stiles bites his lips and groans.  
  
“You don’t need them. Only this one” he says as his fingers brush along the red fabric hugging Stiles’ body. Stiles smirks because he knows. Oh man, how he knows. It’s so obvious that red is Derek’s favorite color. It even becomes a weakness, it seems, when Stiles is donning it. But Stiles, ever the delinquent, opens his mouth to argue. He doesn’t get too though, mostly because Derek captures his lips in a heated kiss that makes his knees wobble and his mind numb. His arms curl around Derek’s neck as one hand finds Derek’s hair and holds on to him for dear life. Derek grabs onto one of Stiles’ thighs, hoisting it up and around his waist.  
  
It’s all heat and tongues and slick saliva. Moans and groans and needy hands; begging for more touch, more skin, more anything. By the time they pull back, Stiles is breathless, panting in lungfuls of air as his hands stroke through Derek’s scalp. The Alpha finds his neck, breathing him in and settling his nose into the crook.   
  
Stiles smiles, he hasn’t felt this happy in a long time. He didn’t think he’d have something like this, what with pining over a girl who he knew realistically would never notice him, at least not in the way he wanted her to. And even if she did, the constant promise of danger would eventually take its toll. In retrospect, he knows the implications of running with a pack of wolves. He’s human, he knows this. He even takes pride in it. He’s comfortable with who he is, despite the overwhelming fact that he can’t do what they can do. No incredible strength, enhanced speed or healing. No claws or fangs to bear and defend with. But he’s here, with Derek, a man he’d never thought he’d be with it, and that’s okay. Because he knows he needs Derek just as much as Derek needs him. They know they’re good for each other in this strange and unexplainable way. Things feel easier when they’re together and it’s not just that Stiles feels this way. He can see it in the way that Derek’s posture relaxes when he touches him. How he lets himself be vulnerable. He lets himself rest and that’s all that Stiles wants. He wants to help. He wants to make Derek the best he can be. He wants him to feel…loved.  
  
“What are you thinking about” Derek asks. Stiles just keeps smiling, thinking about his life. How everything changed with a morbid curiosity for a girl cut in half. How now, despite how fucked up every day seems to be, that it all works out in the end.   
  
They’re safe. They’re pack.  
  
Stiles tugs at Derek’s hair, bringing his head up to face him. A wry smile is resting on his lips.  
  
“I’m thinking…you owe me about sixty bucks or a really, really good fucking.” Derek grins, his lips upturning to reveal the faintest bit of fang.  
  
“I think we can work something out” he says.  
  
He picks Stiles up, throwing him over his shoulder as Stiles attempts, half-heartedly to protest. They make it halfway to Derek’s room when Stiles is being particularly bitchy.  
  
“I’m not a fucking girl, Derek. I can walk myself up the damn steps and it’s not like I don’t know where your room is, I’ve watched you go into that weird-ass wolf cave a million fucking times when—”  
  
The loud sound of Derek’s palm crashing against Stiles’ ass has him gaping, staring wide-eyed at the wall he’s forced to look at thanks to his current position.  
  
“Stiles, shut up” Derek says.  
  
He knows he shouldn’t. Stiles so knows he shouldn’t say it. But it’s there…and it’s right on the tip of his tongue. It feels like he’s going to throw it up. Like a weight in his mouth and it’s falling. He feels his lips moving and before he can stop himself—  
  
“Make me…”  
  
Yeah…that wasn’t supposed to come out.  
  
Derek kicks the door to his room open and literally fucking throws Stiles into his bed. When Stiles looks up, Derek is more wolf than man. He suggestively runs his tongue over his teeth, his claws at his side; twitching. A pang of…of…anticipation runs through Stiles. And maybe he’s a little surprised, because usually the sight would have Stiles shitting himself, but watching Derek’s tongue slide across the sharp points of his teeth is making Stiles feel all fucking funny in his pants.  
  
“What was that?” the Alpha asks. Low and dangerous.  
  
Stiles gulps, mind frantically trying to corroborate an appropriate response, but his mouth is already moving.  
  
“I said make me” and damn, Stiles really needs to stop letting his mouth run the show.  
  
Derek growls, eyes flashing red as he stalks--  _fucking stalks_ over to the bed that Stiles is spread out on. Like Derek is on the prowl; found his prey and is making his way in for the kill. He crawls up on the bed, showing more claw that Stiles thinks is necessary, then his body hovers over Stiles.  
  
“I think I will” and _Oh_. Stiles likes the way that sounds. He  _very_  much likes the way that sounds. Stiles grins, looking up at a still shifted Derek. A werewolf. A fucking Alpha Werewolf. Seriously, how did this even happen? Oh yeah, Scott got bit and then they accused Derek of murder and Stiles found ways to pointedly annoy him as much as he could. Kinda hard to ignore someone who is practically the bane of your existence.  
  
But then Derek does. He shuts Stiles up so quick, it practically makes his head spin. With a heated kiss so brutal it has Stiles keening for Derek’s touch.  
  
Later, when they’re both sweaty and sore and basking in postcoital bliss, Derek will pull Stiles close, his form human now after he had released himself in Stiles, and he’ll inhale his scent and grin, smug and satisfied that he can smell himself permeating through the boy’s skin. Stiles will sigh in sleepy contemptment.   
  
“So…is this like a thing? Are we a thing? Not that we need to be…a thing. But I think that it’d be cool…to be a thing? Maybe?”   
  
Derek sighs, rolling his eyes. “Yes. Stiles. This is a thing”.  
  
Stiles’ heart pounds; excited and happy. He smiles to himself, feeling Derek’s chest on his back. Derek’s arm around his waist.   
  
“Cool” he says as he lets himself be lulled to sleep by the calming breaths of his boyfriend; the steady rhythm of his heart and the warmth of his skin.


End file.
